


3 times Angel and Alastor almost kiss (and 1 time they do)

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 3 times + 1, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor's Mic Is More Put Together Than Alastor Himself, Angel Can't Help It, Angel Dust is a Fluffy Whore, Angst, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Character, Asexual Does Not Equal Aromantic, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Boners, Background Chaggie, Blood, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gore, Husk Is Done With Everybody's Shit, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Masturbation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Other, Prostitution, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Violence, We're In Hell What Did You Expect?, Yes He's A Serial Killer But He Has FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: What it says on the tin, basically.Angel has set his sights on a certain serial killing demon but said serial killing demon is not interested. Until he is.Happy reading, sinners~
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Charlie Magne & Vaggie, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 59
Kudos: 650





	1. Chapter 1

**Alastor’s POV**

Inside every demon is a rainbow. This is what Charlie thinks about Hell, but no wonder; she’s a princess! Princesses are bound to be stupidly naive and have hope for all of humanity, even if that humanity consisted mostly of murderers, sex traffickers, drug-lords and mafia bosses. Now, what Alastor _could_ have done when he bore witness to the unadulterated disaster that unraveled on his television screen, was turn the damn thing off and continue on with his day, offing people.

 _Another_ thing he also could have done? He could have killed Charlie. She wasn’t a threat, far from it, but she was severely annoying. And Hell was no place for hope, anyway, so Alastor might as well take care of her before someone else gets the pleasure to. Besides, killing the heir to the throne, as she so proudly wore the title, meant earning the worthy opposition of her parents. Killing them in return may be the challenge the demon has been looking for.

So, what _did_ Alastor do with his options, you might ask. Or you don’t. You watched the same pilot as I did, let’s get real here. What you and I _both_ know the deer did, was waltz up to the Happy Hotel’s doorstep and, when finally let inside, he offered this Princess of Hell a hand with her idiotic plan.

And now here he was, trapped inside this sad, abandoned hotel, his only current companion being alcohol. It wasn’t a first, that was for sure. A certain winged, grumpy cat stayed with him a while, serving him drinks over the bar counter as he whined about Alastor’s choices.

“What’re we doin’ here, Boss? I mean, _really?_ This’s so below you it’s fuckin’ laughable. Besides, what do you care about savin’ souls?” Husk spat, clearly bitter about having been chosen as one of the other sinner’s staff members, and Alastor laughed in return, joined by tiny voices from inside his mic.

“You’re right, I don’t. But as I told Charlie, my dear fellow, I don’t have a motive. I am simply bored. I’ve grown tired of creating chaos and watching saps suffer as I drain the life from their eyes.”

“No shit, _you_? Tired of killin’?”

“Well, no, that I’ll never grow weary of, but let’s just say I wanted a… _side_ _hobby,_ ” smiled the demon, sharp and cunning, a laughing track supporting his words. Husk didn’t look impressed. He downed a bottle of sickly green liquid and wiped his muzzle with a distasteful grunt, shooting his company a skeptic glare.

“You can complain all you want, Husker, but you’re getting paid, are you not?”

“Are you talkin’ about the cheap booze? I don’t think that counts as a payroll. I’ll do the job, you’ll get bored of this too, eventually. But I sure as Hell don’t have to stay with you here.”

And with that, the feline took off, packing as much liquor as he could carry before he vanished in a cloud of smoke. Alastor rolled his eyes, Husk was just being Husk. That was nothing new. And he was wrong, too. Alastor wouldn’t ‘get bored’ of this. He’s not an impatient brat, and he commits to his promises. He was a serial killer and a psychopath, but he wasn’t a liar, nor was he a coward.

Alastor wasn’t alone for long, though. Suddenly, there was a sound of steps approaching behind the fawn, or specifically, the clicking of heels. His vision filled with white, fluffy hair and a gold-toothed grin as a certain spider sat down beside him. This spider crossed his lower set of arms over his stomach and crossed his long legs, eyeing Alastor up and down. Angel Dust, Alastor recalls, was this twink’s name. Hard not to learn it, after seeing him in so many adult commercials.

“So _you're_ Alastor? Vaggie told me all about your little plan to become the most powerful being in Hell. You’ve got ambition, I’ll give you that,” Angel spoke, low and seductive, and he batted his eyelids slowly at Alastor.

But the deer wasn’t impressed. Such a trivial thing as flirting would hardly have any effect on him, much less the flirting of a pornstar.

“Well, one can only strive for so much when they have been sent here, don’t you think? Hahah! And _you_ , are Angel. Angel Dust.”

The spider’s face split into a delighted smile.

“You’ve heard about me, then.”

“You could say that,” replied Alastor, there was hardly any need going into detail about that.

 _This is going to be interesting,_ he thought as he watched Angel use his two free arms to whip out two scotch glasses and a bottle of Jack. He was already pouring the other a glass when he asked ‘Whiskey okay?’.

“A splendid choice, my Dear.”

But he feared his way of speaking would be… unconventional, with this demon. When the name he calls just about everyone slipped out, Angel’s nonexistent ears perked and he looked as gleeful as a child. He tipped his glass towards Alastor, who didn’t lose face, grabbing his own to clink it against the other’s.

“Cheers to your health, Smiles.”

Well, Alastor supposed Angel had found his nickname. Whatever floats his boat.

Then, after they had been talking for a while, getting to know each other and Alastor found out this whore was, after all, more than just a whore, Angel abruptly rested a hand on the stag’s knee, no shame evident in his expression. The touch was less than pleasant to Alastor, who refrained from flattening the arachnid’s pretty face and instead cleared his throat.

“Angel.”

“Yes?~"

“What are you doing?”

Even Alastor’s mic was quiet, the eye on the body of it focused on what was happening before it. Angel’s gloved hand slid up his leg an inch, he was leaned far too close to the sinner for his taste, a wicked smile playing on his lips. Alastor could see his golden tooth gleaming in the dim light of the makeshift bar.

“Oh, I don’t know, you tell me.”

See, the thing was, Alastor could destroy Angel right now if he wanted. He could set this building in burning flames and leave without another thought, but he was committing to this. He _needed_ to commit to this. And as slutty as he was, the spider was still cute, Alastor wasn’t going to lie. But _sexually_? He just wasn’t interested. Perhaps he should just say that.

“I don’t quite think you know who you’re dealing with, boy,” he nearly growled, staring back at half-lidded, dual-toned eyes.

“Oh, I think I know _exactly_ who I’m dealing with. My offer still stands, Smiles, let’s have some fun.~"

His hand trailed further up Alastor’s thigh, slipping beneath his coat, and that’s where the deer stopped him. He grabbed ahold of the whore’s hand with more force than perhaps what was necessary, and he shoved him back against the counter.

“That’s quite enough! I’d advise you to refrain from touching me in the future.”

But what Alastor saw on the spider’s face then was the complete opposite of what he wanted. Angel’s eyes were blown, his jaw slack and his back arched, taut as a bow with the two of them pressed against one another. He could feel the length of Angel poking into his hip. Alastor’s plan had backfired on him.

“Or what? What will you do to me, huh?”

Alastor’s face burned hotly with the contact, and with a full-bodied shudder, he pulled back, panicked. What little power he held in this situation mere seconds ago, was long gone now, and that scared him.

“I’m ace, Angel,” he blurted out, watching as the expression of lust and yearning faded from Angel’s face and was replaced with regret.

The spider slapped one hand over his mouth while the others paused mid-air.

“Oh, shit. Fuck, I’m sorry, Alastor, I- I didn’t know...”

“No, you couldn’t have, it’s fine,” Alastor insisted, but Angel was already on his way out, slowly backing away from the bar.

“I should go. I’m sorry.”

And as suddenly as he had first appeared, he was gone.

Alastor exhaled, a hand smoothing down his hair and the other summoning his mic.

“Did you see what happened just now, Mic?!”

“Yes, indeedy! I saw every single detail of it, and I think one of us has to say it- we’re both way in over our heads here," replied the microphone, and it wasn’t wrong.

Suddenly feeling very exhausted, Alastor dropped back down on the barstool, looking off to where the arachnid had disappeared moments ago.

“We might just be…”


	2. A bitter (but temporary) farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you don’t want to make things worse, then I suggest you leave me be, Angel. I don’t want to hear it.”
> 
> It was so strange to hear Alastor's voice without the layered effects of the mic. There were no static or interference, no laughing tracks, and you could hear the depth of his voice clearly now, the rasp and the Cajun flair to it. And right now, despite his wrath, he sounded… vulnerable. Angel took a step forward, ignoring the warning. 
> 
> Time for some Angel POV, folks! Let's go!

**Angel’s POV**

It was a stupid idea to begin with. Dragging the only people he really cared about into a turf war sounded like the most idiotic decision ever. And Angel supposed that’s probably why he made it. Now, besides his naive friend Charlie who was, honestly too good to be in Hell, and the rest of the hotel staff, there was Cherri, and she was the closest thing the whore had to a friend. But he couldn’t exactly protect her. Was there a turf war or a gang fight, _she_ probably started it. Besides, Cherri hardly needed protection. Just watch how she and Angel destroyed Sir Pentious. Well, almost.

The thing was, Angel needed a distraction. After his last encounter with the radio demon, he couldn’t stay in the same room as him without feeling awful. More so than the overwhelming amount of selfish disappointment he felt when Alastor confessed his sexuality to him, Angel was overcome with guilt over being the one who had practically forced him to do so. Thanks to his job and his overall sexual nature, he invited nearly every individual of the male gender to enjoy his services. It was almost an instinct by now. But he had learned his lesson from the conversation he had with Alastor, and the following week that had passed after this ‘incident’, Angel did his very best to respect him. He couldn’t avoid him, that was a near impossibility since both of them were helping Charlie and Vaggie out with the hotel, but he refrained from making sexual remarks around him. Or at the very least, _toward_ him.

And in return, Alastor spent more time getting to know Angel. He listened to the spider’s wild stories of clients who turned out not to be who they claimed, and if he was in a good mood, the stag would share some stories of his own. Angel was proud to say that they have even become friends. And as much as his heart (and body) ached for more, Angel would have to make do with what he had. Besides, no one said he couldn’t pleasure himself to memories of Alastor’s voice and face. In fact, meeting up with clients was a lot easier when you had someone special to picture in your head instead of facing reality. All in all, Angel cared a great deal for his newfound, psychotic friend.

Perhaps more than he should. This is why he needed to get away from his feelings for a bit and go on a rampage killing spree to blow some steam off. And who else to bring but the demon you’ve caught feelings for?

But having Alastor with him instead of going alone, well, he had fucked up. Big time. Because while everyone came out uninjured from the turf war - except for their enemies, but what did you expect? -, there was one thing that Angel wouldn’t be able to undo.

“I can’t believe it’s gone,” Alastor exhaled, standing in front of the chaos he and Angel had helped create, his claws grasping at thin air.

He had lost his mic. It broke when he fought a particularly murderous overlord, and he looked absolutely miserable over it. Now, if Angel didn’t know any better, he probably would have just laughed at the fawn, but he knew how much that thing meant to Alastor. He carried it everywhere, he had casual conversations with it, and he even _slept_ with it. (Angel should know, he sneaked into his bedroom to ‘borrow’ a shirt of his. We don’t need to go into further detail about what the whore did with the shirt but I think we’re all on the same page there) And the amount of distress that showed in Alastor’s wide eyes was just soul-crushing. Which was comedic, because Angel was pretty sure his had been crushed long ago.

Unable to ignore the guilt that lay heavy on his shoulders, the spider put a hand on Alastor’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry, Smiles, I-”

But before he could say another word, Alastor let out a treacherous growl, shrugging away the other’s hand. The smile on his face was missing when he leered at Angel, and the whore winced at the sight. _He_ caused this. It was his fault and his fault alone.

“Don’t you dare touch me, you feeble milksop*,” he barked, and then disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

Angel blinked, _what the fuck did he just call him?_

* * *

Back at the hotel, Angel hoped and prayed to Satan that he wouldn’t run into Charlie or Vaggie. He wanted to find Alastor and apologize, that was it. Explaining how he dragged the demon that was supposed to help rehabilitate _other_ sinners into a turf war, wasn’t something that sounded all that appealing to the whore right now. Yet when he sneaked through the building and reached the stairs, who does he meet? Well, no others than Charlie AND Vaggie. It was just his luck.

“Angel, where have you been? Alastor just stormed up to his room, he looked really upset,” Charlie exclaimed with a frown.

Bless her naive, sympathetic soul, Angel thought and opened his mouth to answer. Excuse or explanation, he didn’t know which it would be, but Vaggie was way ahead of him, narrowing her eyes and pointing an accusing finger at him.

“You have something to do with this, don’t you?”

“Well…” shrugged the spider, averting his eyes from the moth demon’s intimidating glare.

Charlie’s eyes darted back and forth between her girlfriend and the culprit, who shifted his weight from side to side, uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Do you?” asked the blonde, and Vaggie let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Angel sure wasn’t a good liar, but he was a pretty decent peace-maker, so if they just let him by, he could find Alastor and, well, _make peace._

“Just get up there and make things right, okay? Sketchy as he is, he’s our guest here, and if you scare him off or in any other way make him leave, I will fucking _end_ you. You hear me?”

Angel had no time for threats. And besides, he was already dead, so what did he have to fear? Except for Alastor never talking to him again, that is…

Angel gestured to himself with one pair of arms and used the other to shoo the couple away.

“What does it look like I’m doing?! I can’t ‘make things right’ if you’re blocking my way. I’ll fix this, don’t worry.”

With both girls’ eyes on him, he hurried up the staircase to find the deer’s room.

Not all that surprising, Alastor had holed up in no other room than 666. Angel would have chosen 69, but he can respect the fawn’s choice. He knocked on the door before peeking inside. When he wasn’t killed on the spot like he half expected to be, he let himself in. Pacing the living room back and forth was a wound up Alastor, his eyes glowing red with anger. The air appeared to be thick with something that couldn’t be explained as anything other than _evil_ , lingering heavy like a wile stench, and the room was a dark, ominous red. Angel gulped.

“Heyy, Smiles, I uh- I can tell you’re not doing too good, and I don’t want to make things worse but uh-...”

He trailed off when the stag’s neck cracked as he looked over in the arachnid’s direction. His fists were tightly clenched and his chest was heaving.

“If you don’t want to make things worse, then I suggest you leave me be, Angel. I don’t want to hear it.”

It was so strange to hear his voice without the layered effects of the mic. There were no static or interference, no laughing tracks, and you could hear the depth of his voice clearly now, the rasp and the Cajun flair to it. And right now, despite his wrath, he sounded… vulnerable. Angel took a step forward, ignoring the warning.

“Look, it’s my fault you lost your mic and I just wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t need your pity,” spat the stag, venom in his voice as he approached the other, staring down menacingly at him.

Angel swallowed, he could smell the hint of sweat and smoke from the aftermath of the fight they were in on Alastor’s collar, and what was beneath his mini skirt picked up interest. Unfortunately, it didn’t understand timing. With no opportunity to hide himself, the whore just prayed that Alastor wouldn’t take notice. Shame coiled in his stomach, which did help his erection go down quicker. As did the despondent look in red eyes.

“I know perfectly well how pathetic it is to mourn over an object. But that mic was my proudest possession. Without it, I’m no radio demon,” finished the deer, deflating, and he shook his head, done with talking, it seemed, as he turned on his heel to retreat into the bedroom.

Angel may be stupid, he may get himself killed by following Alastor, but he didn’t care. He was the reason the demon was so upset, and he would be damned if he didn’t try to change that. Sheepishly taking a seat next to Alastor on his bed, he respectfully kept a few feet’s distance between them. Alastor refused to look at him.

“Y’know, you don’t need the mic to be ‘the radio demon’. Yeah, you might not have a digital audience to laugh at your dad jokes, but you never needed the mic to be intimidating,” Angel spoke, choosing his words carefully, and he finally gained the fawn’s attention.

This is the first time someone doesn’t look offended by what comes out of Angel’s mouth, but to be fair, this is probably a first that Angel actually thinks through what he’s going to say.

“No, you’re still the same psychopath serial killer that apparently half of Hell fears, probably more. So if you’re worried about falling short with these people, don’t. And if you really want that radio host shtick, well, you can always get a new mic.”

Hearing this, Alastor huffed out a sigh, falling back onto the bed with a loud thud.

“Al?”

“You’re right, Angel. You’re absolutely, completely right. I’m just being a big baby over this entire thing,” laughed the demon, but it lacked humor, and his _smile_? Still nowhere to be found.

“You’re not, I get it. Trust me, I have a few things I can’t part with, too.”

Rolling onto his side, Alastor met the whore’s eyes, and they were softer now. Angel’s heart skipped a beat.

“Like what? Sex, drugs?”

“Well, yeah-”

But his words caught in his throat, that wasn’t fully true. The drug part was right, Angel couldn’t live without his beloved Fencykladin, but sex? Sure, he would probably have some serious withdrawal issues if he went all celibate on himself, but if he had a chance with Alastor? Just the tiniest sand corn of a chance to be with him? He could try to live without it.

Angel blinked, coming back to reality. What the fuck was he thinking? He shook his head, this crush was making him lose his sanity. And as Alastor waited for him to continue, his smile returning, the whore was scared there was nothing he could do about it.

“No, I- I don’t know, it’s complicated, but the thing is, I get it. You’re not being a baby, if you’re upset it means it’s worth being upset about. Sometimes you just have to let yourself be sad about things.”

 _Wow_. He should take his own advice, he thought, nodding as if confirming his words. Then, as Alastor suddenly sat upright, his face was only inches away from Angel’s, and that just about stopped the spider’s heart. He could see the gratitude in red scleras, hear it seep through his voice when he spoke.

“Thank you, Angel.”

“... No problem,” breathed the other demon back, unable to blink or breathe as Alastor held his eyes with his own, the seconds feeling like decades as they passed. Angel noticed that the heavy, ominous feeling and ambiance that previously occupied the room had vanished.

Then, as Angel seriously started questioning what in the everloving fuck was going on, something in his back pocket vibrated, and he jumped five feet into the air.

“Son of a-”

He chose to ignore Alastor’s amused chuckling and how deliciously low it was to open the message he had received on his phone.

_Client waitin 4 u by The Red Room. Be there in 5, slut. - Val_

Of course. Angel should have expected this. He was in Hell after all, and Alastor was still ace. He couldn’t live in a fairytale, no matter how much he sometimes wished for it. Willing the heat on his cheeks to go away, he rose hastily from the fawn’s bed.

“I uh- I gotta go. Client.”

Angel knew Alastor knew, but it was still embarrassing to say. His job wasn’t something to be proud of, and in front of this particular demon, it felt ten times worse.

“Oh. Well, good luck, I suppose,” grinned Alastor, waking that feeling inside of Angel once more that the whore wished would vanish off the face of Hell. He scrambled backward to find the door and looked back at the deer one last time before exiting.

“Thanks. I’ll er, see you soon?”

“Counting on it,” came the response and you could hear the smile in his voice.

Burning like Hellfire, Angel slipped out the door, his heart going at a million miles per hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author's note: I looked up 'old school insults' on Google for this lmaooo. I thought it fitted Alastor pretty well, since he obviously doesn't and won't swear.
> 
> I was dreading to post this chapter after the comments I received on the first one saying how you peeps liked Alastor's mic being in the story, but it was already written by that point, and I just really liked the impact this event has on their relationship! I AM SO SORRY! T_T But, but! The mic might not be gone forever. So stick around, because I'm planning to make it up to you!
> 
> If you liked this, please let me know and I'll have the next chapter up on the 24-25th! (Sorry, Christmas rush!)


	3. A cheer for sweet revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the stag limped Angel, clad in his stripy but now torn blazer, a black eye, and a split lip, dried blood painting his otherwise white fur in odd patches. Alastor blinked a couple of times, unsure if he was dreaming - maybe it was a nightmare? -, and that’s when the spider looked up, meeting red scleras and freezing on the spot. 
> 
> “A-Al. I didn’t think anyone was still up.”
> 
> [[WARNING!!: Mentions and aftermath of non-con/rape. (NOT between Al and Angel)]]
> 
> (I HAD to make the MCR-reference in the title, I just HAD to. My hands are tied)

**Alastor’s POV**

It’s one late evening and Alastor is down at the hotel’s reception, working late. It has been one full month now since they opened the Happy Hotel for the public, and business was booming. Alastor shouldn’t be surprised, with his help and Charlie’s already remarkably high spirit and attitude, the sinners of Hell were bound to come around eventually. And despite the frightened glances he received on the daily from customers who knew his name (as they should) and the questions he got as to what he wanted to accomplish with what they were doing, Alastor managed to brush them off most of the time, shrugging his shoulders in response.

Because in all honesty? He didn’t have an answer to what he wanted to accomplish with helping Charlie. Not anymore. Originally, he had hoped the princess of Hell’s little idea of rehabilitating demons would go South, that the entire thing would turn out a shitshow so that Alastor could watch fellow demons and killers alike suffer as they tripped over their own feet and sunk into a state of wretched despair.

But since things were going so well around here, Alastor’s attempts of creating a new form of entertainment for himself turned out to be unsuccessful. Instead of having his way, he was typing out the week’s dinner menus and public pool schedules on a laptop. _Who had he become?_

The sound of the doors by the entrance slamming open was a welcomed distraction for the fawn, who turned his head to face the newly arrived. In stumbled a familiar silhouette, and the smile on Alastor’s features quickly faded when the light of the chandelier in the ceiling shed over the creature that dragged themself (presumably) towards the stairs behind Alastor.

 _Good Heavens._ Before the stag limped Angel, clad in his stripy but now torn blazer, a black eye, and a split lip, dried blood painting his otherwise white fur in odd patches. Alastor blinked a couple of times, unsure if he was dreaming - maybe it was a nightmare? -, and that’s when the spider looked up, meeting red scleras and freezing on the spot.

“A-Al. I didn’t think anyone was still up.”

His voice was rough, coming out in a small wheeze, yet still laced in uncertainty and fear. It was in a matter of seconds that one; Alastor noticed how Angel lost his footing, his eyes slipping shut as he fell unconscious, two; he jumped up from his office chair to sprint over to him and three; he silently ordered his shadow to catch the fellow since he wouldn’t be able to do it himself in time. His silhouette, now awake and frankly, just as concerned as Alastor was himself, wrapped their inky, flexible arms around the motionless body in a tight embrace, and gently lowered the fluffy whore to the ground. It shot Alastor a look of sympathy before vanishing into thin air. 

“Angel! Who in the nine circles did this to you?” exclaimed the demon, kneeling before Angel’s used body and looking him over for injuries, one hand supporting the back of his head in case that any of his airways were blocked.

Apart from one bruised eye, a split lip and the smears of blood that clung to in his fur in clumps, Angel’s gloves were gone too, and on one hand, his knuckles were red, almost as if he had punched his perpetrator. If so, he had all the rights to, Alastor thought, because whoever had done this to him, they were gonna _pay_. One particular detail that strongly hinted at what could have happened to the whore, by what could only be one, probably _more_ , of Angel’s clients, had the deer cringing. His face twisted in a repulsed grimace when he took note of how a trail of blood reached the heels of the arachnid’s boots and began all the way beneath his mini skirt.

Now, Alastor has killed plenty of people. People _and_ demons. He has tortured them for hours on end until they were begging him, _pleading_ for their death. He thought he, by himself, had discovered all the horrible ways there were of hurting other beings, but _this?_ This made all the color drain from his face and started a raging fire in the void that was inside his chest. This unexplainable, insatiable need to kill the one(s?) behind this overwhelmed all his other senses.

“Ahem… Don’t you have more pressing matters to attend to first?” asked a familiar, staticky voice, and suddenly, there was a single, judgmental eye glaring at him.

Alastor’s mic had summoned itself into existence - Satan only knows _how_ it did that - and it grounded Alastor now, helping him understand that vengeance would have to wait.

(Yes, believe it or not, Alastor’s mic had survived. While it was in all technicality, only an object and objects couldn’t exactly _die_ , Alastor had watched his mic being broken in half like a twig in a turf war by an unnamed overlord that was now dead, and the stag had thought that was it. He had never lost his mic before, didn’t quite know why he brought it into the turf war in the first place, so it was no wonder he mourned what he begrudgingly called his friend.)

“But… Look what they did to him!” Alastor nearly whispered, cradling Angel in his arms and pulling him close enough so that he could check his pulse. Probably should’ve done that when Angel first collapsed, now that he thought about it.

With the spider’s heartbeat steady against his fingers inside that fluffy chest of his, Alastor could exhale a sigh of relief.

“Which is _exactly_ why you need to take care of him before you do anything else! Look at him, Al, he’s in bad shape.”

Alastor stared down upon the other demon’s fragile frame, his chest aching in the oddest of ways that he couldn’t possibly begin to understand. But no matter.

“You’re right, you’re right, I’ll-… What do I do?”

“Carry him up to your room, lay him down somewhere comfortable and clean him up. Be there when he wakes up, he needs you.”

 _Angel needs me._ These three words echoed over and over again in his head, like a broken record.

“Okay… Okay, I can do that,” Alastor nodded, unsure if he was trying to convince the mic or himself. Nonetheless, when he looked back up to ask the mic how to… _clean_ Angel, it was gone again, without a trace. He shook his head, swiping a hand carefully over Angel’s forehead, brushing his fur aside to check his temperature.

“He’s burning up... “ he muttered to himself and carefully rose from the floor with the unconscious arachnid in his arms.

He glanced over to the staircase, so many steps… It was clear to the fawn that magic would do far better than trying to maneuver his way up the stairs with a hurt Angel. So with a snap of his fingers, they were both inside his hotel room, and Alastor did as the mic had instructed him, cautiously lifting Angel onto his bed. He gathered any medical supplies he could find and started treating Angel’s injuries, healing him without magic first. He put an ice bag on his black eye and swiped antiseptic onto the more shallow scratches and cuts. This made the arachnid’s face contort in pain, and Alastor hurt with him, fury still bubbling in his veins over what monsters had done this to Angel.

When minutes passed, that then turned into an hour, and the spider remained unconscious, Alastor’s worry grew too intense for him to ignore it. Perhaps Angel needed rest, that much was understandable, but as long as he was asleep, Alastor couldn’t know what mental damage he had taken, or if he could walk, even. The deer had no idea to what extent Angel had been hurt, but he intended to do worse to the sinners behind it. Much, _much_ worse.

In an attempt to wake Angel and simultaneously clean the more stubborn tufts of fur that were still crimson with blood, Alastor prepared a hot bath and slowly lowered the demon into the tub after slipping his blazer and boots off. With a start, Angel jumped awake, water sloshing in the tub as he sat upright, disoriented.

“It’s okay, Angel, you’re all right,” Alastor attempted to soothe him when Angel met his eyes, panicked, and the arachnid looked like he could flee out of the room at any second. Looking around, his brow furrowed.

“Am I… at the hotel?”

“Yes, you’re in my room, and you’re perfectly safe. For the moment. I do apologize for… disrobing you, I only meant to get a better look at your wounds and treat them.”

“My… Disrobe??” muttered the whore, resembling one big question mark before he looked down, just then realizing that he was indeed almost fully nude.

His knees folded up to his chest and he made a grimace. This, in turn, made Alastor grimace as well, he presumed Angel was sore in more than one place. Angel looked like a kicked puppy, one that wished to be _anywhere_ but right here in this moment.

“Fuck, I uh- I fainted, didn’t I? I remember coming into the hotel, and you were there and… Man, that’s really embarrassing,” he rambled, his face flushed a shade of pink that made a nice complement to the spots of the same color beneath his eyes. Wasn’t it for the look of distress on his face, Alastor would almost say he was cute.

“Not at all.”

“Look, I’m real sorry you had to see me like that… That you have to see me like _this_. I get it if you felt like I was your responsibility, but I’ll get out of your hair now.”

And to think that the whore was actually about to stand up and leave. Well, we can’t have that, can we? Before the arachnid could say another word or get up, the stag pressed a finger to his lips, his other hand gently pushing him back down in the tub.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Angel. You’re hurt, and you need proper care. You’re not my responsibility, you’re my _friend_. And what kind of friend would I be if I just left you in your time of need?”

But Angel didn’t look convinced. Doubt gleamed in the back of his dual-toned eyes and he opened his mouth to argue.

“I want to. Please, let me take care of you,” insisted the deer, his voice softer than he’s ever heard it before, and Angel seemingly shattered upon hearing that, tears spilling over his eyes and slipping down his fuzzy cheeks, creating ripples on the water’s surface.

“Al…”

With his voice cracking like that and his expression so open and vulnerable, Alastor couldn’t just stand there, bent over the bathtub like a jackass. He ignored all the voices that screamed at him that _this is not optimal behavior for a serial killer,_ and extended his arms out, inviting Angel into a warm hug. The spider only hesitated for a split second before all four lanky arms of his wrapped around Alastor, two around his neck and two around his waist, and he sobbed violently against the stag’s shoulder. He was drowning Alastor, both literally as his suit got thoroughly soaked, and metaphorically, with raw, overwhelming emotion. And Alastor, though shell shocked by how good it felt to after decades, if not _centuries_ , hold someone, found that he didn’t mind it a bit.

“Shh, it’s okay, Angel. I got you.”

He murmured sweet nothings like that while rubbing circles onto the small of the spider’s back, hushing him as his body wrecked with each sob.

The two creatures sat this way for a while, content with each other’s company, and though Alastor at first had been uncomfortable with the physical contact he and Angel shared, this was quite alright, he thought. Besides, it seemed the arachnid really needed this cry. Because when they came apart, his eyes were red and his face shades worse, as he sniffled and looked over Alastor’s clothes.

“Shit, I got you soaked.”

“I did initiate the hug, remember? It’s just water, it’ll dry. Speaking of water, let us deal with your wounds before this runs cold. Let me?”

Looking away, Angel gave a hesitant nod.

“Thank you for trusting me, dear.”

Albeit startled by what had gone from a casual greeting to what was now definitely a pet name (yes, Alastor is quite aware that he has developed somewhat of a soft spot for the spider, he can’t help it), a smirk spread onto sharp features. It wasn’t quite a smile yet, but they’d get there.

“I thought _you_ were the stag here.”

 _Well_ _then_. That was unexpected, Alastor thought as he bit back a laugh, he wouldn’t give Angel the satisfaction. But he was pretty sure his teeth were showing all the same when the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

“Know your place, Dust, puns are _my_ thing.”

* * *

“So, my Angel…” began Alastor as he was wringing a washcloth in the sink, red water trickling out of the fabric that only fueled the fire inside of him.

Meeting Angel halfway in his straightforward approach, he'd get the info he needed out of him, so that he could take revenge upon the monsters that hurt the whore. He kneeled in front of the arachnid who now lay in the bathtub with a pleased smile, the fluff that was his chest pooling out over the edge.

“Oh, am I, now?~ What do you need from me, Baby?”

“Just the names of the bastards who did this to you,” murmured the deer against Angel’s lips, closer to the other demon than he’s ever been, and it’s entirely by his own choice this time. But it’s not that bad. Not that bad at all… Especially when color rose to Angel’s face and he blinked, completely thrown off his rhythm.

“I-... I don’t think-”

“Darling... “ Alastor purred, a single clawed digit moving light as a feather along his jawline, then down his neck and grazing his chest.

He could tell that his technique was effective, because Angel literally gasped with every touch he left on his body, gentle but possessive.

“All I want is to make sure that they can’t hurt you anymore. You won’t get into any trouble.”

The whore was about to crack, his eyes flicking nervously around the room and his face impossibly red. Then, he exhaled a shaky sigh, and in a hushed whisper, he gave Alastor the names of three dead men.

**Bingo.**

This was far from an easy leap for Angel, trusting Alastor with the names of clients who Val had assigned him, practically putting his life in the deer’s hands. Now, the spider may offer his services to most, but Alastor felt honored that _he_ was the one where Angel’s trust lay.

Watching Angel’s expression, anxious eyes framed by a pinched brow, there was an overwhelming need to comfort him, so Alastor leaned down to press his lips to his forehead, relishing in the broken sound that left Angel’s lips when he did so.

“Thank you, Sweetheart. Now, I believe I have some urgent matters to attend to.”

And he rose to his feet, summoning his coat and his mic to prepare for his exit, (the eye on its body was staring intently, mockingly, at Alastor, but it didn't say anything) and for the most torturous, slow executions he’ll have performed in his life.

“Whether or not you choose to come with isn’t my decision to make, but I strongly recommend that you stay here and rest.”

“Fuck that!” exclaimed Angel, up from his bath and drying himself off with a towel.

Any attempts to make him stay here would be in vain because he looked almost as ravenous for blood as Alastor felt. The two demons met eyes, sharing a twisted, insatiable need for death and destruction, and Alastor thought that _this_ look on Angel's face suited him the most. 

“I’m not gonna miss the best night of my life, Honey. Let’s go fuck some shit up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, and happy holidays! My apologies for the late upload. I think I was a tad too ambitious with my schedule and I needed some more time to finish this chapter up. I didn't want to post something rushed that I wasn't satisfied with, and that's why this chapter is only posted now. After all, you only deserve the best I can give you.
> 
> Things are getting steamy here, (literally, lmao) and our poor deer boi is developing feelings for our fluffy whore. Pray for him, y'all! ;-;
> 
> I will not put up a date for the last chapter, but hopefully, it will be done before next year. I hope you liked this! <3


	4. A deer and a spider? Kissing? It's more likely than you think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please… Just kill us," wheezed one of the demons, his voice barely carrying, and Alastor let out a loud laugh, joined by an audience from his mic, that was here to enjoy the show as well. 
> 
> “Oh, nononono, don’t be silly, we’ve just gotten started! I don’t think we’ve covered an inch of what you’ve done to Angel yet, have we?”
> 
> No monologuing this time around, please just enjoy and happy new year! <3

**Angel’s POV**

Imagine yourself being tortured with something you used to love. The one thing that you can always find comfort and familiarity in, the one thing you thought you were in control of, but it’s torn from your grip and used against you to put you down. To torment you for hours on end until your body and mind feels numb, and you’re begging for it all to just stop.

This is, more or less, what Angel went through last night. Val had assigned him a client who had rented a room at a brothel, and the whore dutifully met up with him. After being tied up for some fun with this customer, two other demons came into the room, and they looked like they wanted to tear Angel apart. Already, the spider was panicking. He’d dealt with orgies before, the craziest kinds, but he was usually _informed_ before they were due. unlike this fateful night, where this group of sinners wanted more than just a quickie, and Angel was completely defenseless...

I don’t think much more context is needed, do you? Either way, Angel was used for all of his worth, if not more, and when he was finally let go, he wasn’t sure how he was still alive. He barely got back to the hotel before he passed out, but he was lucky, because it wasn’t unnoticed.

No, this miserable night gave Angel the best ending, because who saw him collapse but his favorite renowned deer demon? When Angel woke again (with all of his limbs aching and his head pounding but _alive_ all the same), it was in a bathtub, being taken care of by Alastor. And although Angel doesn’t think he’ll be having sex for a while after his night, he saw that his wounds had been treated, and the ‘deer caught in headlights’ look on Alastor’s face, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss him right at that moment.

Now, I want you to imagine having gone through all of that bullshit, and then having front row tickets to the show where the demon you adore drain the life out of the fuckers who put you through that bullshit.

Angel wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly, when he gave Alastor the names of his clients, but it wasn’t _this_. However, he wasn’t about to complain, when he followed the fawn to a run-down mall where the cowards were hiding, and gaped, as the same demon that called him ‘Darling’ just hours ago, cleared his throat to announce his presence and lifted all three sinners into the air by their throats. Promptly, all exits of the mall were eliminated when a powerful source slammed all doors shut, and an ominous red fell over the room. Angel could smell evil. Yes, _smell_ it. That’s how furious Alastor was.

“You’ll have to excuse my intrusion, fellows, but you didn’t think laying your repellent paws on Angel Dust would go unpunished, did you?”

Alastor’s victims yelped as if their very life forms were being squeezed in warning. They were either too shocked or simply incapable of answering, but Angel had a feeling Alastor wasn’t here to chat anyway.

“No matter, I’ll make sure the rest of your pathetic, _miserable_ lives will only consist of regretting that you ever even **_looked_** in his direction.”

Alastor’s voice lowered with each word, sharp and merciless, dripping in static and _yearning_ for revenge.

It was… kind of hot? Angel knew he had a screw loose, probably multiple, but hearing Alastor defend him like this, make _threats_ in his name, in complete control of the situation without needing to move a finger, it woke something inside of Angel. Something... insatiable.

At first, Angel just stared at the display that unraveled before him, back and forth between the brutes that had tortured him, as they were taken apart piece by piece, blood coating the floor of the mall as they squirmed in agony, and Alastor, who simply stood there, puppeteering the show with a wide, razor-sharp grin on his face and a look of absolute madness in red scleras.

“Please… Just kill us,” wheezed one of the demons, his voice barely carrying, and Alastor let out a loud laugh, joined by an audience from his mic, that was here to enjoy the show as well.

“Oh, nononono, don’t be silly, we’ve just gotten started! I don’t think we’ve covered an inch of what you’ve done to Angel yet, have we?”

And with a flick of his wrist, there were several shadows curling along the walls, slowly but surely reaching their victims, and the rest of what happened was history. Glorious, unprecedented history. But what I _can_ tell you, is that when Angel got his shit together after gawking on at the infamous radio demon in action for a while, he cleared his throat, waltzing up to Alastor with a sly smile.

 _‘Interested in joining the fun, my Darling?’ ‘Oh, you can bet your bottom dollar I am. I might not have your range of demonic power, but_ these _have never failed me in a genocide,’ Angel had said, wiggling his fingers at Alastor in a (for once) not sexual but rather playful manner, and that drew a laugh out of the stag. A brilliant, bright laugh that Angel was unsure if he had heard from him before. All while that stag held three bloodied, moaning lifeforms in the air, which were all, without a doubt, regretting the very day that they were born. But Angel wasn’t about to show any mercy. No, where would be the fun in that? So together, as a true couple of unsparing, bloodthirsty demons, Angel and Alastor played with these three sorry sinners, punishing them over and over and over, until they were just tissue of skin and bone on the ground._

“I’ve got to say, Al, Angel, that was the most fun I’ve had since the-"

“Stock market crash of 1929. Yes, Mic, we’re quite aware,” finished Alastor for his mic, which was eager to chat on their way back to the hotel.

Angel was ecstatic, walking arm in arm with his betrothed, as Alastor spun his mic around in his other hand to clear some of the intestines and blood off of it. His face and clothes were splattered with blood, yet he was still the most beautiful creature Angel had ever laid his eyes upon.

“Will you stop with that already? You’re going to give me a concussion!” yelled the mic, its one eye flicking around wildly, and Angel suppressed a laugh, to which the object noticed.

“Don’t think I can’t see you or your fondness for this narcissistic, striped doe. Will you two just get on with it already?!”

That promptly shut Angel up, and both demons, discounting the mic, came to a halt, just reaching the entrance to the hotel. The spider blinked at the mic, then up at Alastor, who looked far more collected than Angel felt. That was just unfair.

“I’ve got it handled, Mic, you don’t need to be my wingman right now.”

“Right, well I’ll be off then! I have some business to attend to, and you two should reconcile so-”

The mic’s babbling faded as it was gone in a puff of smoke, and Angel raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna have to explain the rules with that guy some time, y’know that right?”

“I’m quite aware,” Alastor grinned, wiping some off the blood off of his face and taking the whore’s hands in both of his. Angel’s breath got stuck in his throat.

“I do think he’s got a point, however, Angel, my dear. You see, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for quite a while, and I don’t believe in ‘the right time’ or ‘faith’, so allow me…”

Like a perfect gentleman, he cupped Angel’s fluffy cheek in his palm and removed stains of crimson with his thumb, and the arachnid thought he might melt on the spot. His heart was racing. He felt like a fucking teenage girl, and he would never really figure out how he could kill other demons without another thought, but felt nervous around _this_ one, but this was no time for overthinking. His lips slightly parted and his entire body leaning into Alastor, he stared dreamily into red eyes - they were filled with adoration and other revoltingly sweet things -, Angel was baffled as to how he could finally have his Disney-fairytale-moment.

“My darling, may I-”

“Yes. You fucking know the answer’s yes, you sadistic bastard, so just kiss me already," exclaimed Angel, fisting Alastor’s collar in one hand, and with a deep chuckle and a curl of his lips, Alastor did, fitting their lips together in a scorching, searing hot kiss.

Angel’s eyes fluttered shut the moment Alastor closed the space between them, a sigh of euphoria and relief sounding against Alastor’s lips, and the stag hummed, pleased, in response. All four of the whore’s arms came around to embrace Alastor, two going around his neck to bury his fingers in red hair - Angel marveled at how soft it was -, and the other around his waist, locking around him and pulling him impossibly closer. A surge of emotions rushed throughout his body, relief and solace, a sense of pride for having turned Alastor’s uninterested ass all the way around, and love. So, _so_ much love. Which felt ironic after the pair had just murdered a trio in cold blood. But somehow, it kind of suited them.

Every touch from Alastor was exceptionally gentle, deft fingertips moving down the small of Angel’s back and carding through his fur, explorative and almost _reverent_ , and it was like nothing Angel had ever experienced before. He had done all kinds of shit, all kinds of _people_ , but no one has ever… cared for him like this before.

Yet it was all over far too soon. Alastor pulled away, clearing his throat, like he suddenly realized something. He looked down onto the ground and Angel’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, God, you didn’t like it, did you?” he spoke without thinking, panicked, but in response to this, Alastor shook his head, looking a mite disheartened. He reclaimed Angel’s hands in his own again and gave them fatigued squeeze.

“No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all, I-”

He met Angel’s eyes, and his were gleaming with uncertainty. It was a rare sight, but not one the spider wanted to see right then. It was a complete change from the joy and confidence he exuded before he kissed Angel, and it was definitely unsettling.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… You should know, Angel, that while I do like you a whole lot, I still can’t promise you that I’ll be very active… sexually.”

Those last words were a mere whisper, almost ashamed, but in spite of how troubled the stag appeared when admitting this, it was a relief for Angel to hear that _that_ was all it was. He raised one of Alastor’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it.

“Oh, Al.. You don’t need to do any of that for me. I won’t force you to do anything, and I don’t _need_ it either. For you, I’d sacrifice anything.”

 _God, that’s so corny,_ Angel thought, disgusted with himself for being so nauseatingly sweet, but it made a smile form on Alastor’s features, so it was worth it. Alastor grinned.

“Even _drugs_?”

“Okay, no, I’ve gotta draw a line somewhere!”

They shared a laugh, and Alastor placed his hands on Angel’s hips, pulling him in close.

“Well, the feeling is mutual, Love. And I’m not putting it out of the equation, because I will admit that I _am_ curious…”

“Really?!”

“Baby steps, my Angel, baby steps,” warned Alastor, but the fact that he admitted this alone made Angel’s chest feel tight, his heart fluttering with excitement.

Because even though he’ll take this relationship at the deer’s pace, and even though he _knows_ he shouldn’t get his hopes up, what Alastor said sounded sincere. And they might be polar opposites in many ways, but Angel has this weird feeling that they just might be able to work together.

“Now what do you say we go inside and get these innards off of us before Charlie or Vaggie sees us, hmm?” Alastor suggested with a smile and Angel leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips, his hand finding Alastor’s.

“Sounds good to me, Sugar.”

So they walked inside the hotel, rushing to reach the stairs, and then-

“Where the fuck have you two been?” rumbled Husk from on top of the stairs, having an indiscreet, very obvious indoor smoke break.

Both deer and spider froze in place, looking at each other and attempting to somehow telepathically come up with a believable excuse to pull on their friend.

“Husker, my dear boy, we were just-”

“Oh, that’s rich. You two finally got together, and it took you a murder spree to figure it out, huh?” Husk grinned, all sharp teeth and sass, he knew he was right.

Alastor shrugged, clutching onto Angel’s arm a bit tighter and shooting the feline a wry smile.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You’re not gonna tell Vaggie and Charlie, are you?” hoped Angel aloud, sounding pathetic but he really, _really_ didn’t want Alastor to get in trouble for this.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told him the names of the demons in the first place…

“What do I look like, a fucking snitch?”

Dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his paw (HOW did that NOT hurt?!), Husk gestured to behind the couple, and Angel already knew what was going on here.

“I can’t do anything about them standing behind ya, though.”

And just like a scene pulled straight out of a comedy, Alastor and Angel turned around to face the angry girlfriends, putting on their most charming smiles.

“Charlie, Vaggie, my favorite demons!” Alastor beamed, only to be silenced by Vaggie, who pulled a weapon out of nowhere and pointed it at Alastor.

“Don’t think flattery will get you anywhere. I _knew_ you were up to no good! You helped us get started with the hotel just to waltz in here covered in **guts**?! You’re in deep water, shitlord,” she hissed, looking like she was about to explode, and honestly, Angel couldn’t blame her.

But he couldn’t let her believe it was all Alastor’s fault, either. He avoided Charlie’s despondent eyes - she seemed so disappointed she couldn’t even find the words, and it made Angel feel like scum -, and he nudged the ax in Alastor’s face away.

“Vaggie, it wasn’t him. I ended up with some… bad clients and he- he helped me out. But I shouldn’t’ve caused a scene, so if you’re gonna blame anyone, blame me.”

“Debería haber sabido que nos ibas a causar problemas, puta sórdida,*” muttered Vaggie beneath her breath, and although Angel didn’t understand all of it entirely, he had a feeling it wasn’t anything good.

But to his surprise, Alastor laced their fingers together and spoke up.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Vaggie, there’s a perfectly valid reason as to why we did what we did.”

“Oh yeah? This’ll be good.”

“Angel was violated by three monsters who had hurt him so badly, that once he came back, he immediately fainted. These demons were irredeemable, Charlie, if I let them live they would only be putting more souls in danger.”

By the time he had finished, Vaggie’s anger had seemingly deflated. Both her and Charlie were gaping at Alastor with wide eyes, and Angel was no better himself. No one has stood up to him like this before…

Charlie looked like she was on the verge of crying, she nudged her girlfriend in the side.

“Put that thing away already, Vaggie.”

“Right. Right, I’m uh- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Her ax vanished and she looked extremely bashful. Wow. Alastor must be some kind of miracle worker, because he somehow made their genocidal riot seem somewhat justifiable.

“Are you okay, Angel?” asked Charlie softly, reaching out to the arachnid but wavering, unsure.

Angel grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, mustering a stale smile. He didn’t _like_ to be patronized, but he would let it slide this time.

“I will be. I’m sorry about… this, too. We’ll go clean up.”

“Yes, please do that. We’ll talk about this later,” agreed Vaggie, and despite her hostile posture, she did seem genuinely sorry.

Thankfully, there weren’t many guests out this late to witness this, and those who were, currently occupied the bar on the other side of the stairs, so there was no major harm done. Vaggie and Charlie offered the two sinners compassionate smiles and then turned around to leave, Vaggie putting a comforting arm around Charlie’s shoulder. Angel swallowed, looking up at Alastor, who kissed him on the forehead.

“I’m sorry I had to bring that up.”

“No, you had to, it’s okay. You saved my ass. Twice, now.”

“You have plenty of time to make it up to me,” grinned Alastor and _no, Angel, stop thinking pervy shit, he’s just being friendly,_ Angel thought, letting the deer lead him up the stairs.

At the top there, stood Husk, his jaw on the floor and his wide eyes following the pair as they made a beeline for their room.

“Well, I’ll be fucked,” one could hear him mutter, and despite everything, that made Angel giggle.

Alastor eventually joined him and soon enough, they were having a laughing fit in the middle of the hallway, clinging onto each other as they stumbled into their room, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AN: Vaggie’s Spanish could be roughly translated into “I should've known you were gonna cause us trouble, you sleazy whore.” Yup, she was pretty fucking mad. 
> 
> AN 2: Husk is an entire mood and a half, tbh
> 
> AN 3: Would you look at this? I fucking did it! I posted the finale just in time for new years, and I'm pretty happy with how it came out. I hope you are too, that you enjoyed this little trip and that you're having a great new year's eve! Thank you all so much for your continued support and feedback, it means the world to me! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a four chapter-long slow-burn fic where an asexual character and a hypersexual character work out their feelings for one another. This is the first time that I write about a character on the ace-spectrum, but I intend to do it as respectfully and realistically as possible. My lovely ace friends are helping me out a little with some of the vitalities, but if you feel that something is missing or is simply wrong, please don't hesitate to let me know. Critiques and or compliments are always welcomed and can help me improve my writing. Thanks in advance :)


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